


I’ll Always Remember You (This Way)

by Annie46fic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Erased memories, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-16
Updated: 2011-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-23 19:25:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/254003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie46fic/pseuds/Annie46fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam’s wall has come down and there is no quick fix this time; Crowley helps Dean out and gives Sam a new identity, and a new life as a lawyer and erases his memories. Dean leaves, promising himself that he will never see Sam again.</p><p>However – a hunt in Lawrence leads Dean back to Sam but this is a Sam who doesn’t know or remember Dean and whilst defending Dean, it is a Sam who falls in love with Dean; falls so deeply in love that he wants nothing but for Dean to feel the exact same way.</p><p>Can Dean forget that they were ever brothers?  And can he finally give Sam what he wants?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I’ll Always Remember You (This Way)

**Author's Note:**

> Art work done by usarechan - See more and tell her how amazing it is [Here](http://usarechan.livejournal.com/1637.html)

  
[   
](http://pics.livejournal.com/annie46/pic/0001h0ry/)   


They had managed to end it, but at a terrible cost.

Castiel – once a friend and ally – was destroyed, gone and, despite everything, there was an empty space where he once was. Bobby dead; his funeral pyre dosed in the best Jack Dean could find, more tears than he had shed for a while, a few ashes left to scatter to the wind. Sam’s mind gone; his brother had held it together long enough for them to do what they had to do and then he had crashed and burned. Comatose and totally dependent; Sam would not want to be like this, he figured, wouldn’t want to live like this and, in the end, he almost put a gun to Sam’s head, tasted metal himself after, not wanting to hang around.

There were no quick angel fixes; Balthazar, Raphael, Cas, all dead and no one to help him. In the end, his aid came from an unusual and almost unwanted source; a grinning Crowley who had somehow managed to survive everything (again) and who was waiting for Dean at the Crossroads, all smug grin, and hard eyes.

Dean figured that he would have to give something but Crowley gave him a free pass, a gift. It was suspicious and unexpected but Dean wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth where Sammy was concerned.

He left his brother in Lawrence; Sam Campbell, Law student and part-time mechanic. Sam had his own apartment, a Labrador dog, and enough money to be comfortable. Dean wanted Sam to forget – not only hell – but his hunting life, his family and most of all, his brother because if Sam knew Dean was out there somewhere he would, surely, come looking for him.

Dean drove out of Kansas in early spring and he swore – to whoever was left or listening – that he wouldn’t come back, he wouldn’t seek Sam out, wouldn’t even try to find out how Sammy was doing without him. He drove down the freeway with a light heart, music pounding; the roar of the engine beneath his feet. There were tears in his eyes as he did for Sam what he had done for Lisa and Ben - gave his brother a life without Dean in it and he hoped that Sam would be happy, hoped he would be contented and that he would, finally, get the life he had always craved.

****

 **Five Years Later**

Sam eats a piece of toast, picks up his briefcase and lets out the dog; it has taken him years to perfect this move but now it is slick, fast and gets him to where he wants to be in a few minutes rather than half an hour. The dog barks as he runs the length of the grass and Sam finishes his toast, swallowing down the rest of his cold and bitter coffee and getting ready to start the day.

Sam loved his job; he was a Defense Attorney for the city and it was what he had always wanted. He would have earned far more money in a private practice but he preferred to do it this way. He liked the idea of helping those who were less well off; of saving people. It was ingrained in him somehow and it made him feel good when he freed blameless people, it made him feel better about himself and his life.

He hadn’t become a mechanic like his late father but he still helped run the business and it brought in enough income for him to live comfortably. He had handed the smooth running of the place to the manager – Jim – who seemed happy enough to take the reins. They employed people who really needed to work and Sam only hoped that his dad would be proud of him. He was an orphan and his memories of his parents were sketchy at best, in fact, sometimes he had problems with his memories all together, unable to recall much from his childhood and wishing he had a brother or a sister, with whom he could talk to, who could help him to remember.

Still, there was no time for reflection now, today he had a hard case to crack, and he was both excited and nervous. A man had been found hunched over a dead girl, the girl had been shot once in the heart with a strange gun, and the bullet had been fashioned out of silver. The man had no real defense; he was in the room with the gun in his hand and his prints were everywhere. There seemed to be no motive and, weirder still, no record of the man on any of the police databases. His boss seemed to think that _Jack Black_ wasn’t the man’s real name and Sam couldn’t help but agree with him. Everything about this case was odd and Sam was looking forward to getting his teeth into it.

****

As he arrives at the office he can hear an argument already going on; there are two cops standing by the door and they nod to him as he goes past. When he nears the interrogation room he is aware of the raised voices getting louder and he pauses for a moment, his hand on the door knob, wondering what, the hell, is going on.

“I don’t want him,” a stranger’s voice, harsh and determined. “You must have other attorneys, surely.”

“Sam Campbell is our best defense attorney – the best there is in the state in fact and you Mr. Black are in extreme need of a good lawyer.” His boss sounds pissed. “So, you are not really in a position to . . . ,” his voice trails off as Sam decides to enter and he looks up, his face a mixture of exasperation and relief.

“Sam.” Mr. Weaver almost collapses against the desk. “Come on in.” He gestures to the man in the chair, “This is, Jack Black.”

Sam looks down at his potential client and his first thought is that the man is strangely beautiful; he has soft, pale skin, freckles across his nose belying his obvious maturity. His eyes are as green as Jade and sharp, very sharp, as they stare at Sam, taking him in, assessing him. His lips are round and full and he smiles tightly.

“I told you,” Jack Black’s voice is low and almost threatening. “I don’t want him.”

Sam frowns. “What have I done to upset you?” Sam goes for his professional _‘gee I’m harmless’_ smile and Jack stares up at him, seemingly unmoved.

“I don’t need a lawyer. I told them I did it and now they can throw the fucking book at me.”

“Mr. Black.” Sam gives his boss a pointed look and with some relief he nods and leaves the room. Alone with his prospective client Sam wonders what he can say to persuade the man that he needs some sort of defense and that, without it, he may well be facing a lethal injection somewhere down the line. “Mr. Black, at least lets discuss this first.” He forces a smile and hopes it doesn’t look too false. “I can assure you that Mr. Weaver was right in one respect – I am the best there is.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Jack Black looks at him for possibly the first time and Sam’s stomach gives a little flip at just how pretty he really is. It is very unprofessional and not at all like him but there is just something about the guy that makes Sam want to – to. . . . “But, I already told your boss and now I’m telling you, I did the chick a favor and I’m not sorry for it. If they want to throw the book at me, then it’s all well and good.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and he rubbed a hand across his face. “I’m tired,” he said, finally. “And I’m ready.”

Sam felt his heart sink; he could see the resignation in Black’s eyes, see the misery and despair and he wondered what had happened to bring the man down like this, what could have occurred to make him so miserable, so despondent.

“Don’t sweat on it.” Black was still talking and he gave Sam a look, head to one side cocky, appraising almost. “I’m sure that if anyone could have done something it would have been you.”

****

Dean sat in the office chair and stared at the oak desk as if he had never seen wood before; he wanted to look up and take in Sammy again but he daren’t, the emotions flooding him were almost too much for him to actually bear.

He didn’t know why the fuck he had come back to Lawrence; he could have pursued any of the hunts he had found online but he had chosen the suspected werewolf attack because it had seemed the most interesting, and the most likely. That is what he told himself anyway, and if he did happen to run into Sam or see Sammy from a distance, then all well and good.

Instead, he was here in the office of the district attorney; here in the office where by some frigging bizarre coincidence (and wasn’t that just the story of Dean’s life right there) his brother now worked.

He shot a quick look at Sammy; he was thinner now he had stopped hunting but it was obvious he still worked out. He was lithe and rangy, wearing a smart, expensive looking suit, not an ill-fitted suit stolen from goodwill, but an honest to God off the peg suit with a crisp white shirt and a silk tie. There was no gold ring on his finger and Dean felt a little sad. He had hoped Sammy might find a nice girl, live that apple pie life he deserved but still, he looked happy and healthy and that was enough. His brother still had that stupid long hair but he wore it tucked behind his ears. When he bent down to write on his pad his bangs fell into his eyes and Dean felt a terrible urge to brush them back.

He wanted to touch his brother so much it physically hurt; he was so lonely, hunting solo was never a good thing and although he had fucked his way across America since he had given Sammy his new life, he still hadn’t met anyone he cared about as much as his brother and he certainly didn’t want to go down the Ben and Lisa route again.

“Mr. Black . . . ,” Sam’s voice interrupted his reverie and he was forced to look up into those familiar, stormy hazel eyes, forced to acknowledge that Sam still had his stupid dimples, that earnest _shucks tell me everything_ expression. “Please, Mr. Black, let me help you.”

Dean wanted to protest, to open his mouth and scream; he had been ready to die, ready to take the consequences of his actions but now – now staring his past in the face, he was beginning to change his mind.

“Okay,” he ground out, finally, not able to actually look at Sammy whilst he did so. “Okay, Mr. Campbell – we’ll talk at least.”

Sam was smiling; even without looking Dean could tell and his throat almost closed up, his eyes stinging. Sam leaned forward and with three words almost broke Dean there and then.

“Call me Sam,” he said.

****

It wasn’t part of his job but Sam always liked to do research; he wasn’t sure why but there was just something satisfying about sitting at the laptop and surfing the net.

As suspected Jack Black had no history at all; fingerprints had been taken and the police had told Mr. Weaver that they would let the firm know as soon as they discovered who, ‘Jack’ really was. Sam wondered just who his client was because he just couldn’t accept the fact that he was a cold blooded murderer. There was something about the mystery man, which moved Sam in a way he hadn’t been moved for years. He was wary about going there; he couldn’t ever recall being close to anyone, his parents were a distant, fuzzy memory and he hadn’t really ever had any close relationships as being gay kinda’ sucked when it came to meeting your significant other. He also realized that being attracted to your latest client, a possible murderer who was maybe bound for death row, was not really an option but he couldn’t help his emotions, couldn’t help the way his stomach clenched when he looked at Jack, the way he thought Jack was so fucking pretty.

Sam shook himself and began to look at the crime; oddly enough there had been spates of murders in that particular district that dated back ten years. Men had been found with their hearts ripped out, their corpses bloodless and mauled. It certainly didn’t fit in with this MO and Jack had claimed that what he had done was merciful, he had ‘put the woman down’ and saved her. It sounded, to most ears, like the ravings of a mad man but, somehow, to Sam it made a strange amount of sense.

He closed down his laptop and settled on the couch with the dog; Mutt licked at his ear and made him laugh and he leaned into the golden fur, his head aching, a little, and eyes stinging so much he wished he had worn his glasses. He thought about Jack Black alone in his cell, wondered if the man was dwelling on what might happen to him, if he was dwelling on his possible death. Somehow he doubted it, somehow, he knew that ‘Jack’ had been in these situations before and he wondered why he felt like this about someone he had met once and briefly at that.

****

Dean couldn’t help but smile as his brother sat down in front of him; Sam was wearing a slate gray suit today with a matching tie and he looked good, really good. He smelt good too, soap and cologne and the faint scent of coconut. He was wearing glasses and Dean knew that all that late night researching would have some effect on him. There was a lump in his throat that made him gag a little, he wanted to tease Sam, wanted to say something smart and sassy but he couldn’t, couldn’t even give Sam a clue, he had wanted to leave Sam well alone and he had to get away from Sam somehow even if Sam only had his best interests at heart.

Sam smiled tightly; he pushed a photograph over to Dean as he opened his notebook and began to read, voice rough, “The cops sent your fingerprints off for analysis,” he said, flatly. “You won’t be surprised to hear that there is no Jack Black – apart from the one who starred in _School of Rock_ and that the prints were matched to one Dean Winchester who died over ten years ago in St Louis, Missouri – cops shot him! He was caught in a woman’s apartment, suspected of rape and the woman was in a pretty bad state.” Sam looked up at him for a moment and then looked down again and Dean’s heart clenched tight when he saw the look of disappointment on his face. “Funny thing is, this Dean guy turned up again a few months down the line in Hibbing, Minnesota looking for his cousin,” Sam sounded gutted. “He left a whole farmhouse full of dead yokels behind him. Gets around a bit, this Dean guy – yeah, he sure gets round a bit . . . for a dead man.”

Dean couldn’t think of a single thing to say, he stared down at the photograph on the desk in front of him, stared at himself, young and carefree, before his dad died, before Sam died, before hell, before angels or demons or fucking Lucifer.

The vague panic in his chest wasn’t just because Sam had the photograph or the information, but because he wondered if Crowley had done a thorough enough job; if Crowley had erased Sam from the equation like he had promised because he didn’t know what he would do if a picture of the Winchester brothers just turned up.

“What can I say Sam?” He sighed, fingers playing over the photo. “What do you want me to say?”

“You are making my job harder by not saying anything.” Sam forced him to make contact, eyes glittering through the lenses of his glasses. “I – you – that girl – you were found with a gun in your hand. You confessed to me that you shot her and now – now this.”

“Get the cops to check on the FBI’s database.” Dean’s mouth was dry and he knew he was taking a chance but he couldn’t bear to see the disappointment and the pain in his brother’s eyes. “I think you will find that Dean Winchester was cleared of all his crimes. After you’ve done that we’ll talk some more. I’m not the bad guy here, Sam. I’m just helping people and – I know you won’t understand but I just wanted to give that girl some peace.”

Sam took off his glasses and rubbed them on the lapel of his jacket and Dean watched him for a while, watched those big, capable hands, watched his brother’s face, saw the emotions chasing across it; knew how hard Sammy found it to actually hide what was going on in his head.

“We’ll talk again tomorrow,” Sam said, finally, as he put away his legal pad. “If Dean has – if you have been cleared of previous charges then we might be able to deal with this one.” He got to his feet and looked down at Dean one more time, eyes hopeful. “Just don’t lie to me anymore, okay? I need you to be honest with me – not just for the sake of your defense but – but –.” He put his hand to his head as if he were searching for a justifiable reason and Dean wanted to get up and put his arms around him, hold him close just for a moment, bury his nose into that long neck and smell that unique Sammy scent, hug his little brother one more time.

“It’s okay Sam,” he said, gently. “I understand.” And Sam smiled then, hesitant and dimpled and it was enough, it had to be enough.

****

Sam nibbled, half-heartedly, at the sandwich he had made himself; it was way past noon and he already wanted a beer. The cops had come back to tell him that Dean Winchester had been cleared of all charges and that the late Victor Hendrickson had filled in the report himself telling the cops that Dean was not the man he had originally thought he was and that he was in essence a good guy. Sam was stupidly pleased by the news. He kinda’ liked Dean and when he had discovered his past it had upset him in a way he hadn’t expected. Now he could, at least, concentrate on this case and not be bogged down by all the other charges hanging over Dean’s head.

As well as the dropped charges the coroner had come back and told them that something was wrong with the dead girl’s blood. There was some sort of disease in her system and Sam wondered, randomly, if Dean had killed her to put her out of her misery so to speak. There had been something Dean had said yesterday about saving people that had resonated with Sam, as if they were both reading from the same page, singing from the same hymn sheet.

The third thing was that Dean had somehow made bail if anyone wanted to pay up; $20,000 was a pretty big ask, and Sam hoped that Dean had family somewhere who might help him out. He entered his office with a spring in his step, coffee clutched in his hands, warm and frothy. Today he had two cups and somehow it just felt right, really right.

Dean looked up as he entered and smirked at him, cocky again; it was clear that Dean knew Sam had found out some things and he grinned happily as Sam pushed the coffee over to him.

“Ah Sam,” he shook his head. “Nice as this is I prefer mine black and bitter rather than this frou-frou stuff.”

“Sorry.” Sam tried for mock anger and Dean laughed across the table at him. “It is a bit of celebration really, as you made bail.”

“Lucky me.” Dean sipped at the coffee anyway and made a face. “Doesn’t mean I’m gettin’ out of here – ain’t one soul that is gonna’ pay my bail.”

Sam chewed on his fingernail and made patterns on the desk with the sugar that had split from his coffee.

“No family?”

“I’m an orphan.” Dean said, starkly.

“No brothers or sisters?”

“No.” Dean lifted his eyes and looked at Sam intently; Sam felt as if his throat was on fire and he rubbed at his face for a moment, confused. There was something about Dean’s expression that clutched at his heart and he could feel the other man’s pain and confusion as he had been alone for most of his life and he knew how hard that could be. “It’s just me.”

“Oh.”

It was a lame response and Dean’s semi-smirk told him as much. He sighed and got out his pad ready to talk about the day’s developments but his mind was on the fact that he could get Dean out of here, he could afford $20,000; he had a little more invested in his bank account in case the business needed it but everything was going smoothly and Sam didn’t really need that money at the moment. He bit his lip; it would be very unethical for him to do this but there was something burning inside of him, something that was driving him onwards. He glanced up at Dean who was still sipping coffee and his stomach clenched, his cock suddenly half-hard under his dress pants. Shit, this was going beyond unethical and getting into the territory of forbidden. He rubbed his chin and pretended to be thinking, beside him Dean was silent, contemplative almost, and Sam leant forward risking a gentle touch to the back of his hand, swift and quick so that it couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than friendly support.

“Sam?” Dean’s voice was softer than normal and he looked a little stunned staring at his hand as if Sam had bitten it.

“Look, this is totally out of order but I-I have enough money to make your bail. You’d have to stay here of course and I have an apartment above the garage that my dad left for me. It isn’t much but you are welcome to it.”

Dean was so quiet that Sam wondered if he had done something wrong; if he had offended Dean in some way. When he dared look at Dean again the older man was pale and his freckles stood out in stark relief against his skin, his tongue caught between his teeth as if he were thinking about something.

“I’m not sure that would be a good idea Sam,” he said, finally.

“I am sure I can get you out of this Dean but it is gonna’ take me some time.” Sam tried his puppy dog eyes, the eyes that worked on the local waitresses and got him bigger portions, and more pie. “Wouldn’t you rather spend that time out in the open than closeted in jail?”

Dean frowned; he sighed and nodded slowly as if he had come to the decision against his will.

“I can fix cars,” he said suddenly and Sam couldn’t hold back a smile.

“I could use the extra help; don’t get to do the work myself these days but I know Jim is up to his neck in it. I think he would jump at the extra help.”

“If it doesn’t get you into any trouble then – then, yeah – fuck yeah, I’d like to take you up on your offer.” Dean’s smile was slight but genuine and Sam felt something in his chest loosen, felt his heart lurch.

“Good,” Sam said, business-like now. “I’ll put the wheels in motion.”

“You do that,” Dean said, smiling that little bit wider. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” replied Sam and somehow nothing had ever felt so right.

****

Dean stood staring at the small garage and he wondered if he was going to throw up.

He was out; an ‘anonymous’ benefactor had paid his bail and he was free to come and go as he pleased. The sensible part of him knew that he should get in the Impala and drive, leave Lawrence and go. Sure Sammy would be hurt and his faith in people would be tested for a while; Sammy would be pissed, lose his money and probably curse up a storm but staying here, staying here was so fucking wrong. He had given his brother a second chance of a life away from hunting and he had been determined to stay away but now, now things were different and he couldn’t bring himself to leave, however hard he tried to convince himself that this was wrong, wrong, wrong.

“You must be Dean.” A small man with a beer gut bulging out of his blue coveralls pushed himself from under a wrecked looking car. “Sam told me to expect you.” He grinned showing yellowing teeth beneath a grizzled white beard. “I’ll show you the place and maybe tomorrow we can look at you doing some work here.”

“Sure.” Dean pushed himself off the Impala and grinned when he saw the look of interest in the older man’s face.

“Nice car.” The man beamed wider. “Is she yours?”

“Yeah, she’s a beauty all right.” Dean ran his fingers over the smooth surface seeing them being reflected back in the black shine. “I do all the repairs on her myself.”

The man nodded.

“You are gonna’ be an asset to this place then,” he said. “Name’s Jim, Jim Fox. I manage the place for Sam.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Jim.” Dean shook the proffered hand and didn’t react as his skin slipped through grease and grime. “I’ll look forward to getting my hands dirty.”

Jim laughed then and shook his head.

“Sam always was one for waifs and strays,” he chuckled. “I guess it is something to do with being all alone in the world.”

Dean had to swallow hard then; hoping the next words didn’t choke him. “I guess so,” he managed to say and Jim looked at him, head to one side.

“You can relate then?” he asked, finally.

“Oh, yeah.” Dean rubbed at his face and hoped the smile he gave wasn’t too forced or too false. “I can relate.”

****

Dean hadn’t had a place of his own since leaving Lisa and Ben; sometimes he wondered about them, wondered how they were doing, hoped that Lisa had found someone to settle down with, that Ben finally had someone he could call dad. He missed them sometimes but he was sure – just as he was sure with Sammy – that he had done the right thing, sure that forgetting Dean’s existence was the best thing for them.

The apartment was small but cozy and furnished in a basic manner; there was a tiny kitchen, a bedroom and a sitting room and Dean got himself a tape deck and a TV to keep him company at night. He shunned bars and pool halls, accepting the payments Jim gave him for helping out and making sure he kept a low profile. He had weekly meetings with Sam about his case but that was all and Dean was happy to keep his distance, not trusting himself near his brother, wanting to touch, biting back the impulse to call him, ‘Sammy’, not able to tease or cajole and hurting badly because of it.

One Saturday, Sam called him and asked if he would like to go to his favorite rib joint for dinner; Dean had no excuse for not going, it wasn’t as if he could plead work or personal reasons and in the end he found himself saying yes.

The place was crowded and hot but Sam had booked them a table; it was past eight when they took their seats and Dean was forced to look at his brother again. It was the first time since meeting him again that he had seen Sam look casual. He wore frayed jeans and a plaid shirt, battered boots and a thick leather band around his wrist. His hair was wild and much too long, hanging in his face and flopping in his eyes. He was still stupidly tall and Dean couldn’t help but smile at the waitresses who flirted shamelessly with his brother, wishing Sam could find that someone special.

“I’m starved.” Sam’s cheeks were flushed, high and pink. “Thanks for coming, man. I just needed to get out, you know.”

“No other friends you could ask?” Dean found it hard to keep the amusement from his voice, “Rather than the ‘criminal’ you are defending.”

“I do have friends.” The pink in Sam’s cheeks grew deeper. “But I would rather spend time with you, okay?”

“Sure.” Dean’s stomach clenched hard and he looked at the menu for a moment while he drew breath. “Thanks.”

“S’okay.” Sam took his own menu and began to peruse it slowly. “I don’t know what it is about you, Dean, but you – um – you interest me.”

“I guess it might be my immoral past that interests you.” Dean’s stomach rumbled and he realized how long it had been since he had eaten out, and eaten really good food.

“No,” Sam’s voice was set low and Dean realized he had never really heard his brother speak like that before. “It’s just . . . you.”

Dean felt uncomfortable for a moment; he forced himself to look up into Sam’s speckled hazel gaze and he shuddered, not really wanting to acknowledge what he saw there.

“No girlfriend?” He tried for light-hearted. “No fiancée or wife, hidden away somewhere?”

Sam chewed on his bottom lip for a moment and rubbed at his face; he watched the waitresses for a moment and then he shrugged as if he had made some sort of decision.

“I’m gay,” he said, starkly.

“Oh.” Dean’s reaction wasn’t stellar. He wondered if his brother had always been that way, thought about the few women he had seen Sam with; Jess, Madison, Ruby. It wasn’t actually a huge list and although he knew _soulless Sam_ had had no problems sleeping around he wasn’t sure if his exploits had been confined to just chicks.

“Does that bother you?” Sam’s Adam’s apple rose and fell. “I want us to be friends, you know – and I wouldn’t like something like _this_ to spoil that.”

“No, it doesn’t bother me. Have you – have you always been gay?” He wondered if this was one of Crowley’s sick jokes, if the demon had done this deliberately to mess with Dean’s head but something told him that it wasn’t the case and that his brother had always been attracted to men, maybe just hiding it badly.

“Yeah, I guess.” Sam shrugged. “I always concentrated more on my career than my relationships – had a few flings.” He flushed a deeper red. “But, no one that I ever really wanted until . . . ,” he broke off and looked up, eyes deep and pleading. Dean felt his heart lurch and he shook his head.

“This wouldn’t be wise, you know,” he stated.

“Why? Is it because you are my client?” Sam’s voice wavered a little. “We could work around that.”

“If you do manage to clear my name then I won’t be hanging around here, you know that Sam.” Dean’s throat was thick and he felt like weeping. “And I’m guessing, that standing bail for me wasn’t allowed so actually having some sort of relationship with me would be even worse.”

“No one needs to know.” There was something frantic and desperate in Sam’s voice and Dean felt a terrible sense of guilt as he stared at his little brother, and his life; stared at his little brother who was practically begging him to have a relationship, practically pleading with him to give him what he wanted.

“Sam.” Dean wished he had gone when the going was good; he had taken the werewolf gig because he had remembered how devastated his brother had been over Madison and something deep inside him had forced him on. The chick had been nice, too nice really and had no idea that she was a monster. It had hurt, more than it should, to put her down and Dean had felt at the time that he was doing the right thing; that it was a mercy killing. He hadn’t panicked when the cops found him in the girl’s apartment, he had gotten out of worse situations, but when he had found out his attorney was going to be Sam Campbell – that – that was when the real panic had set in.

Now, he was trapped all ways; he could see how much this meant to his brother and a deep hidden part of him wanted Sam to have it, wanted to give Sam something that he had wanted all his life, happiness and an apple pie life but Dean wasn’t gay and, as much as he loved Sam, he wasn’t sure he could love him in _‘that’_ way.

“Dean?” A big hand, so familiar and warm, settled over his. “Dean, please – I know it isn’t ideal and you may not want this – fuck, you might not even be gay but – but we could start out slow. I swear I won’t hurt you or force you to do something you don’t want to do.”

Dean knew he should get up and leave right now; should try to find a way to pay Sam back, maybe just go back to jail and sort things out from behind bars but he didn’t do any of those things, instead he took his brother’s hand in his and took a deep breath, his heart thundering.

“I guess we could give it a try,” he said and with those few words he was doomed.

****

Sam could see Dean’s reluctance and in some ways he wished he hadn’t pushed so damn hard but his motto had always been _‘Seize the day’_ and in these past few weeks he had gotten to like Dean more and more. Something was drawing Sam towards Dean and it was something he could neither analyze nor explain. He was attracted to Dean, sure, who wouldn’t be, the guy was beautiful, but it was more than that, much more. Dean was a criminal, a self-confessed murderer, he had a checkered past, he was mysterious, odd, closed in almost, but none of this seemed to dampen the way Sam felt, the way Dean made him feel. He wanted Dean on all levels, as a companion, as a friend and as a lover but he knew he had to tread carefully, or else he would ruin it for both of them. He was putting his career at risk but he didn’t much care, he hadn’t really known what it was like to have a family and Dean – Dean felt right somehow, even if he was reluctant and obviously uncomfortable.

Sam had learned many things about himself in these past few years, Sam was patient and determined and Dean – Dean didn’t know what he was letting himself in for.

****

Dean wasn’t surprised by Sam’s ‘courtship’. His brother had always been a gentleman and not into casual sex the way Dean was – at least until he met Lisa. Sam seemed happy to take things really slowly. He still saw Dean as a client on weekdays but at weekends he would turn up at Dean’s apartment and take him out somewhere, for a meal or to the movies. Dean made sure there was no real touching or kissing and Sam appeared to accept it. Dean found it hard to sit next to his brother in the dark of a movie theater and not put a hand on his thigh, an arm around his shoulder. Sam still looked like Sam, smelt like Sam, acted like Sam but there wasn’t that underlying pain anymore, no angst or worry, just a happy, contented man and it was a version of his brother that caused Dean to experience pleasure and pain in equal measure.

He knew that eventually Sam would want more; his case was going well as far as he could tell. Sam was working on his motive; trying to hammer home that this wasn’t a murder so much as a crime of _‘compassion’_. There was something wrong with the girl’s blood, he explained, a disease that Dean had known about and Dean had attempted to _‘put her out of her misery’_ , something she had asked Dean to do for her. Sam was right of course, there was something wrong with the girl but Dean wasn’t sure being a were, was a disease but more like a curse; he had certainly given the girl peace and he knew that the ‘old’ Sam would agree with his sentiments.

They were in the movie theater when it finally happened; sitting close to the back despite the fact that the place was near deserted. Dean turned to Sam to make some sort of crack about the stupid hero and his God complex and Sam inclined his head slightly and kissed Dean.

Sam’s mouth was dry, his tongue rough as it snaked out and licked on the bow of Dean’s closed lips. Dean opened his mouth slightly and deepened the kiss waiting for the feeling of disgust, of wrong to kick in. This was his brother, his family but only he knew it and instead of wrong he got a wild feeling of excitement, of joy, and of release. He felt Sam’s hand on his shoulder, the other reaching over the chair arm, and squeezing hard at his thigh. Fingers moved gently upwards until they rested on the zipper of his jeans and just like that Dean was half hard and wanting, forgetting everything, only aware of the fact that Sam was touching him, Sam was kissing him, and he wanted it. He wanted it badly.

Afterwards, they didn’t really talk about it but Sam looked happier than ever and he, virtually, skipped along beside Dean talking about everything and anything. He walked Dean back to his apartment like some sort of Victorian suitor and kissed Dean chastely as if Dean might bolt at any second. Dean couldn’t help but smile when he returned Sam’s goodbye kiss, holding Sam close, smelling him, feeling him, content to have his brother in his arms again and realizing that maybe they could do this.

He had to know though, had to know if Sam’s mind really was wiped; that Sam wouldn’t suddenly have a rush of memories that might damage him, might even kill him. If Sam didn’t ever know who he was it wouldn’t matter, they could still be together, still be partners. Dean had given up hunting once before and he was prepared to do it again – no questions. He was prepared to do it again, for Sam. He just had to know this one thing and then he could be happy.

That night he walked the long road out of town, only stopping when he reached the crossroads.

****

Crowley was dressed impeccably; he grinned as he saw Dean getting to his feet and he patted something next to him, something Dean couldn’t see but didn’t have any problems imagining.

“Another deal,” English accent smooth and slightly mocking; Crowley hadn’t changed at all and Dean didn’t know whether to punch him or to kiss him.

“I need to talk to you about Sam.”

“Ah.” Crowley examined his cuff. “The moose; how is he?”

“He’s great, thanks to you.” Dean didn’t mean to sound grudging. “But I need to know some things.”

“Whether you two can shag or not is entirely up to you.” The demon smirked, eyes glittering. “I am the King of hell so why should I get all precious over incest.”

Dean felt his cheeks color and heat up; he rubbed at his jeans and stared at the ground where he had buried his summoning box. He wondered where Sam was at this moment, imagined him bent over his laptop doing research, trying to find ways to get him out of trouble, trying to get him off all the charges leveled against him, so that they could be together without any guilt. He huffed out a laugh then, wry and harsh, and Crowley looked up at him, shaking his head.

“You just can’t leave each other alone, can you?” he sighed. “Always living in each others pockets, making deals or plummeting into hell - it would be funny, if it weren’t so fucking ironic!

“He’s my brother.”

“Not anymore.” Crowley moved closer until he was virtually up against Dean, standing on tip-toe so that he was in his face.

“I need to know . . . I need to know, if Sam is – will – if he will ever get his memories back – if – if he might – if something might happen to his mind.”

“I didn’t build the _‘Great Wall of Moose’_.” Crowley examined his fingernails for dirt. “That little idea was flawed from the start, wasn’t it? As soon as it came down your little brother became a gibbering mess, fighting with himself and drooling.” He looked Dean in the eyes, stark and real. “I erased them – the memories and gave him new, more pleasant, ones. He won’t remember who he was because that is gone from his mind,” he laughed, wryly. “Seems like he has a thing for you though,” he said. “He seems drawn to you under any circumstances.”

“So Sam won’t ever remember?” Dean’s mouth was dry. “He’s like a clean slate – a different person?”

“In essence, yes.” Crowley smirked again. “Does that ease your guilt?”

“Fuck you,” there was no real malice in the statement just stark relief.

“I don’t particularly swing that way but for you . . . .” He grinned then and patted the invisible _‘thing’_ next to him. “Go back to him, Dean. I’m not doing you anymore favors and if we meet anywhere else but here I might be inclined to do you harm.”

“Thanks.” He didn’t care now, he felt as if he were in the clear. There might be a future for him with Sam but first – first he had to get back to town before his brother realized he was missing.

****

Sam’s head ached but he figured it was worth it; Weaver thought he had a good case and was pretty sure that Dean would be released, that he would be found not guilty and be allowed to leave. Sam wanted the former and dreaded the latter. He knew he was wrong to get involved with a client this way but he couldn’t help it. Dean meant something to him now and he wasn’t going to let him go without a fight. He was sure he had never been in love before but he was pretty certain he was falling in love now and he couldn’t stop himself, feeling as if he were careering downhill and Dean was going to be the one to catch him.

He sighed and rubbed at his scalp; he wanted to bathe, eat, and maybe sleep for a week. He wondered what Dean was up to right now and he shook himself as he realized what a sap he was becoming. He didn’t know Dean very well, in fact what he did know about Dean Winchester might have frightened off a normal ‘suitor’. Dean had been convicted of murder; he had been arrested on multiple occasions and for odd things. Although all of the charges had been wiped, Sam had gleaned some interesting information about grave desecration, odd murders, detectives who swore all ways that Dean had helped them, saved them even. Sam wondered how Dean got into this life, wanted to know more but he realized he probably wouldn’t ever really find out. He wanted to care, wanted to worry but all he felt when he thought of Dean was warmth, security, and affection. Dean was what he had been searching for all of his life and he felt as if he had finally come home.

****

Dean lay on his back and studied the water stain on the grainy ceiling; he had gotten back to the apartment above the garage at _shit o’ clock_ in the morning and he knew he ought to get some sleep. It was silent all around him but his mind was noisy, replaying moments of his life on a constant loop, the pounding of his heart and the harshness of his breathing the only sound.

Nearly everyone who knew they were brothers was dead; there might be a minority of hunters around who were aware that the Winchesters existed but they were few and far in-between. Sam Winchester had died five years ago after they had halted another Apocalypse and no one had ever questioned that fact. There was nothing to stop them getting together now. Sam Campbell was not Sam Winchester, he was a different person, a person with no built-in guilt or angst, and he wanted Dean.

Thing was, if they did do this thing then Dean would have to give up hunting for good. It didn’t bother him as much as it used to. He had given it up before, for Lisa, but he had never really been happy or content, too eaten up with guilt about Sam being in hell and suffering. Now, according to Crowley, that wasn’t an issue either. Sam would never regain those awful memories, he could and would live his life here in Lawrence, contented and settled. Dean might have felt better if Sam could have settled with a woman, maybe had a few rug rats, bought a SUV and a nice house with a clichéd white picket fence but that wasn’t to be. Sam didn’t want any of that, not _this_ Sam anyway. Sam wanted Dean for all his faults and as it transpired it seemed that Dean wanted Sam too. If he could live with the guilt of fucking his own brother then he had everything he had ever wanted right here on his doorstep. A job, a home, and the one person he loved above anyone else in this world or the next. He could have it all and no one, but him, would ever know any different.

It was dawn when he finally gave up trying to sleep and went downstairs to drink strong coffee and make something unhealthy and fried. He was due to meet Sam in his office at noon and he hoped that his brother would have good news. He knew Sam had been working on the case nearly non-stop, and that Sam had spent sleepless nights trying to clear Dean’s name.

He had taken this job because of Sam; he recalled Sammy’s heartbreak at having to kill Madison all those years ago and he hadn’t wanted anyone else to suffer like that. The chick, like Madison, hadn’t known she was a Were and it hadn’t been easy to make that final shot but Dean had done it for himself, maybe, but mostly for Sammy. He had never expected his brother to be embroiled in it again, given the task of saving his ass, not an easy task to be honest but one that Sammy had taken on with his usual devotion and enthusiasm and Dean was damn certain that Sammy wouldn’t let Dean go down without a fight.

****

Sam looked pale and tired but happy; he grinned at Dean as he sat down opposite him at the desk, jacket off, cuffs rolled up, those stupidly big hands fiddling with his pen, the piles of paper in front of him both worrying and reassuring at the same time.

“You are off the hook.” Sam didn’t bother with preliminaries. “No trial needed, I have managed to get you off on a charge of diminished responsibility – a long shot but acceptable.” He swallowed and long fingers came across to grip his hand, moist and gentle. “You can leave town at anytime Dean. I have – um – the bail money is back in my account, you are free to go.”

Dean saw the fear in Sam’s eyes; he had seen it so often that it was easy to recognize. Sam wanted him to stay; Sam wanted him period but he still wasn’t sure, still didn’t know what to do, or what he really wanted. He looked down at the hand over his and shook his head, the lump in his throat so big that it was hard to get down, the stinging of his eyes uncomfortable.

“There are things I need to do,” he said, finally and he hated the fact that he had put that look on his brother’s face, that look of pain, and of betrayal but he had to make sure he was doing the right thing; this was the rest of their lives and he needed to know that he was doing what was best for Sam, that he was doing his one job in life and that he was doing it well. “I’m not saying no, Sam,” he said, finally. “I’m just saying not right now.”

“I think that I lov. . . ,” Sam started to say and Dean shook his head, putting his finger over his brother’s soft lips. He knew what he had to do; he knew he had to stop thinking about Sam as his brother because if he didn’t then they would have no future at all.

****

Sam watched the Impala drive away; there were tears in his eyes and his hands were shaking so much that he had to thrust them into his pockets. He wondered if Dean would come back as promised, if Dean would ever want a relationship with him. Dean was free; free to go back to the life he had led before this, before Sam. He was pretty sure that Dean wasn’t a criminal but whatever he did wasn’t quite normal. Dean seemed to have the same ideas about saving people as Sam did and maybe he just couldn’t give that up. Sam’s eyes ached as the black car faded further and further into the dust induced haze and he bit his lip to stop from crying out, to stop from screaming. He was certain now that he loved Dean, that Dean was the one for him, problem was – he hadn’t managed to convince Dean of that and he was sure that his future was driving away from him right now and that his heart was irrevocably broken.

****

Dean hunted; he didn’t think, not for a long time anyway, that he was trying to kill himself but he did throw himself against every single evil thing that he met, went up against them with guns blazing, took out vampires and werewolves, evil and restless spirits, monsters that had no name still hanging around after Eve. He did it all on his own, no back-up but he suffered nothing more than a few scratches and the odd broken bone. He wondered if there was someone watching over him, wondered if there was a ‘new’ God somewhere or even if the old one had returned to heaven. He missed Castiel, even though things had ended badly for them – he missed Bobby and even wished sometimes that that fucker Crowley would come and visit because he was so lost and deep inside of himself, he knew there was only one way he would end up heading.

He tried random hook-ups but they didn’t work either; women just didn’t do it for him anymore and he didn’t get hard for other men either. He lay on beds in lonely hotel rooms and took himself in hand; getting harder and harder as he thought about Sam’s long fingers, his gentle touches, the last, longing look Sam had given him, those puppy dog eyes that still thought Dean held the world in his hands.

He was in love with Sam; it had taken months to figure it out but it was there in front of him large as life. He wanted Sam, needed Sam and no one else would do it for him, could do it for him. He sat on the hood of the Impala and watched the stars, saw the brightness there, the silver lights that stretched to infinity and he made his decision, a decision he knew that he wouldn’t regret.

He sold his guns to another hunter; pawned the knives but kept the holy water and salt. He cleaned the Impala until she shone, changed her oil, and tinkered with her engine until he was happy with her. He spent a week in various towns on the way to Kansas, hustling pool and playing poker; he said his goodbyes to the life he had led since he was a child and this time – this time he knew he wouldn’t be going back to it.

****

 **One Month Later**

Sam was in his garden; Dean sat in the Impala for a moment just watching him. Sam was wearing a torn t-shirt and ripped jeans, his feet bare. His stupid hair was still flopping in his eyes, his cheeks pink in the late evening sunshine. The dog leapt about, curling around his legs and trying to steal the Frisbee Sam held in his stupid big hands. He was grinning but Dean saw the utter sadness in those cat-like eyes and he felt lower than a snake’s hips when he realized that it was him that had put it there.

Sam looked up and Dean knew the exact moment that he saw the Impala, saw Dean sitting there staring out of the window. Saw the sadness drop away from Sam in an instant; saw those killer dimples, the bright light in his eyes. Dean found himself climbing out of the car and then he was engulfed in long arms, Sam’s head buried in his neck, Sam’s lips nibbling on his neck, his hands slipping down to grab Dean’s ass pulling him closer and closer.

“You came back,” he whispered, voice low and deep and dark with promise. “Fuck Dean, you came back.”

There were no words; Dean lifted his head and pressed his lips hard against Sam’s, opening the younger man’s mouth with his tongue, licking around the inside of it, tasting him.

“You got time, Sam?” The suggestion was obvious and Dean literally felt Sam harden against his thigh. “Yeah – yeah just like that.”

They staggered into Sam’s kitchen, Dean finding himself thrust up against the hard wall, Sam’s fingers fumbling at Dean’s shirt buttons, Sam’s mouth pressed against Dean’s bare nipples, both men hard and panting. It seemed like Dean’s clothes were falling off without him even being aware and suddenly he was naked and pressed up against Sam’s hard chest, the feel of his soft cotton tee under his cheek, the harsh sound of Sam’s breathing close in Dean’s ear.

“You came back,” Sam said again, wonder in his voice and then, as he slipped the t-shirt off over his head Dean heard a muffled, “Are you staying?”

“Yeah, I am, Sam.” He wants to keep the sentiment, the love out of his voice, try for casual. “I’m staying.”

“God Dean,” Sam’s voice is wrecked and his mouth finds Dean’s again, trembling against Dean’s own when Dean rubs his hand across Sam’s denim covered crotch, makes him harder. “I love you.”

Dean has heard those words a few times before but never said with such conviction, never with such passion and want. He leans into Sam and feels his own arousal grow. “Prove it,” he mutters.

The next minute he is on his back and Sam is lowering himself onto Dean’s waiting cock, hands pressed against Dean’s chest, face screwed up in concentration. Sam is lithe and slim, stomach flat, thighs taut. He is tanned and healthy and there isn’t a scar on his body; Sam Campbell is a normal, 9-5, white picket fence individual and Dean wouldn’t have it any other way.

They fuck fast and furious. Dean has never really been with a man before. He has experimented a bit but never been inside one, never felt the hot tightness before, the overwhelming feeling of someone giving him so much, the sound of breathless wonder, Sam’s voice chanting his name over and over and over. Sam came with a groan, falling across his chest, and kissing his mouth; sweat, and tears mingling with his breath. Dean exploded inside of Sam’s body unable to hold back a moment longer, the most momentous orgasm of his life.

While he lay on Sam’s floor, Sam held tight in his arms, he waited for the guilt, the worry, the fear but nothing came. Instead, he felt nothing but contentment, happiness, and a genuine hope for the future. Sam was shaking and Dean knew him well enough to know he was crying and he held Sam impossibly closer whispering words of reassurance, of affection and most importantly of love.

****

 **One Year Later**

Sam leaves work early; it has been a successful day, two clients with all their charges dropped; no trials. He is wired, happy, soaring high on victory; his motto of _‘Saving people’_ still intact. Weaver asks if he wants to come for a drink or a late lunch but he refuses. He has places to go, people to see and he doesn’t want to waste the rest of what is turning out to be a beautiful day.

The black car gleams in the parking lot and he quickens his step as Dean leans out from the window and waves to him. The loud pounding of rock music makes the car shake and Sam will never stop teasing Dean about it. He grins as he slips into the passenger seat (riding shotgun Dean likes to call it) and feels extra sappy as Dean leans forward and kisses him quickly on the lips, cheeks flushing pink as he does so.

“Good day?”

Dean knows he doesn’t have to ask the question, it is obvious from Sam’s expression that he has been successful again. Sam looks as young and as innocent as ever, slanting eyes and dimples flashing, his bangs hanging in his eyes, his big hand heavy on Dean’s thigh.

They are happy in their domestic bliss, their apple pie life and it is a happiness that has been fought for and earned and Dean wouldn’t have it any other way. When he finally made his decision he thought long and hard about seeking out Crowley, about asking the demon to erase his memories too and just giving him a Dean who was a mechanic, a cleared criminal, someone who was deeply settled in suburbia and who had a lover, a house and a job. In the end, though, he figured that someone ought to remember. Someone ought to remember the Winchester brothers and who they were, remember their pig-headedness, their bravery, and their sacrifices. He figured that someone should still think of Bobby Singer and his baseball caps, of Castiel and his lost causes, of Balthazar and his ‘rock God’ life style. Someone should be able to recall Adam Milligan, Chuck Shurley, Gabriel the Trickster, Rufus and his grouchiness, Ellen’s maternal kindness, and the fact that Jo was both brave and hot.

Those people were gone; figuratively and literally, a part of another life but he wanted them there, wanted them on the edge of his consciousness so that he could thank _whoever_ for giving him this chance of happiness, for giving him Sammy.

Samuel Campbell is his best friend, his lover and his life; he is the center of Dean’s world, the sun to his earth, the moon to his stars and any other sappy comment Dean can think of when they are entwined together after another fantastic sex session. Their family consists of two dogs, a stray cat, and some sort of ragged bird that was a gift from one of Sam’s more grateful clients. For all intents and purposes, they are orphans who have found a home with each other. No one but Dean knows more and he is slowly beginning to let himself forget, he might not have a brother anymore but he has, _a Sam_ and that – that is enough to make him happy.

They have the rest of their lives; no demons, no angels, no monsters to interfere. There are no more deals to be made, no more souls to sell, just a lawyer and a mechanic and a small apartment in the city where no one will ever find them.

But most of all they are and always will be, each others, and it is all Dean will ever need.

End


End file.
